


Hold on to Me

by Alliemackenzie28



Category: Original Work
Genre: Broken Bones, Fever, Gen, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Medical Procedures, Post-Apocalypse, Whump, basically this is just an excuse for whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-10-14 07:19:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17504108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alliemackenzie28/pseuds/Alliemackenzie28
Summary: One best friend gets hurt.  The other is strong for both of them.





	Hold on to Me

**Author's Note:**

> This is just whump, guys. It's sort of post apocalyptic, but they have stuff they shouldn't sometimes, and other times they don't have stuff they should. The universe isn't consistent.
> 
> Characters:  
> JAMES- a medic in training; Liam's best friend  
> LIAM- James' best friend  
> GERRY- older, father figure, main medical guy  
> literally none of the other characters matter
> 
> There might be more at some point but don't count on it. In my head, James recovers fine- no deathfics here- but that's not shown in this fic. It's not a bittersweet ending or anything, it just kinda ends cause I had to go to bed.

"Ok. Ok, next you hafta pull my leg straight. Don't do it too fast, but for god's sake don't fucking stop in the middle, ok? Gimme your belt."  
"For a tourniquet?"  
"No, to bite so I don't crack any teeth."  
"You gotta- gotta grip my ankle and just pull steady. That's why my hip's tied to this tree, remember? So you don't pull my whole body. Just keep pulling till it's straight and there's no lumps in my shin. Even if I yell, ok?"  
James puts the belt in his mouth.  
"Wait- I mean- If I say stop you gotta stop. Like if my foot goes numb or something. Ok?"  
Puts the belt back in his mouth. Holds onto his leg above the knee. Nods to Liam.  
James does scream.  
Liam can feel James’ bones grinding together when he pulls.  
And then suddenly, James relaxes. Liam thinks he's passed out, but his eyes are open.  
"Wow. That's so much better. People always said it felt better after I did that to them, but... fuck. I'm gonna puke."  
He sits up and spills his meagre breakfast onto the leaves, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, gags again.  
James leans back against the tree, looks up at the sky for a minute. Looks like rain. It's only two miles back to camp, and if Liam goes, he can get the truck within 100 yards of where James is now. "Ok. You have to go get the truck."  
"James, what? I can't just leave you here!"  
"Yes, you can. I can't walk, you can't carry me two miles- no, you- ok, maybe you could but we'd risk you getting hurt too, and we can't afford that right now, alright? So you leave me here and go get the truck."  
Liam gives James his jacket and takes off at a run.  
And James waits.  
He's already cold from what he's guessing is shock, although he hasn't lost that much blood. Or at least, not like Liam had last year when he'd been shot. Or like Marty six months ago. Any way he slices it, though, he's not in great shape. He knows he's still bleeding sluggishly, and he hasn't eaten- ok, hasn't actually digested anything- since dinner last night, and the clouds are rolling in thick and fast from the east.  
The wind picks up and whips at the leaves around him and picks up the edges of Liam' jacket that he has spread over his legs. James shivers, but it jars his leg, so he tries not to.  
\---------------  
The first drops of rain hit Liam when he's halfway home. Even though it's been close to a year, his back still hurts if he pushes himself too hard. It'll go away eventually, he knows, but really? Now? This is exactly why he'd been on an herb-gathering expedition with James instead of helping redo the wood stove.  
\----------  
Liam insists on riding shotgun so he can show Kelly where to go. Gerry's in the back with his actual shotgun and his med kit.  
When they get there, James is curled against the tree, head down against the wind. He doesn't look up until Liam is right next to him. "Hey, hey, I'm back."  
"H-hey." James reaches both hands up for Liam. Gerry takes one and together they lift him to standing, where he catches his balance and then hop-steps to the truck. James is soaked to the bone, but in the back of the truck, there are dry clothes for him, and Liam helps him into the shirt. The pants, they decide, can wait until they get back.  
\-----------------  
For James, the next two hours pass in a haze of varying levels of pain. Liam never leaves his side, helping in any way he can even though he's not trained. James usually gets protected from illness and injury since he's one of their docs, so he doesn't get to be the patient very often. It's a little surreal. He knows what Gerry's doing when he tells Liam to hold James's hands- he doesn't want James to accidentally grab at him while he does something painful- so James just holds onto Liam and lets him hold him back.  
He doesn't like this- being helpless, letting other people take care of him, being the center of attention. It's awkward and uncomfortable to let others see his pain. He should be the one comforting and speaking in that soft voice that Gerry has. James doesn't want it- doesn't want the comfort or the hand holding or the coddling. He just wants to be done.  
Finally, Gerry puts in the last stitch where James's tibia tore through his skin, covers the leg neatly with bandages, and puts the whole leg in a premade padded plastic splint. James lays back, sweaty from pain, and shuts his eyes, trying to pretend he's alone, that he doesn't have four people staring at him, knowing how weak he is. Not that being weak when injured is a bad thing, or that he's ashamed of it. It just feels... private.  
When everyone but Liam is gone, James finally breaks. "Can you get me the bottle?" he asks quietly. Liam is completely cool about it- just hands it to him and turns around so he can have privacy, then takes the container to the bathroom. James listens while he pours it into the pipe that drains out into the latrine, rinses it out, and washes his hands. He even brings James a cloth soaked in alcohol to clean his hands with. James has done this for his friends and patients a hundred times, for Kelly and Austin and Marty and Liam himself, but there's something- something so vulnerable about handing another person a container of your own pee to go dispose of. James hates it.  
"You ok?" Liam asks.  
"Mm. Tired," James says truthfully.  
When Liam is gone, James stares up at the ceiling in the silence. If he doesn't move, his leg aches dully and throbs with every beat of his heart, but doesn't hurt too much. He'll be off his feet for a week, on crutches for at least four or five after that, and his leg won't be back to full strength for three months. If everything goes well. If not, well. He'd better get used to peeing in a bottle.  
\--------------  
Liam brings him venison and garlic-mustard and beets for dinner. It's good, Marty’s cooking always is unless they're running really short, but James only gets half of it down before he starts feeling sick. He pushes the plate away towards Liam and drinks some water, then asks Gerry for peppermint tea to calm the nausea, but the water hasn't even boiled before he's retching into a bucket, holding onto his leg with one hand and Liam' forearm with the other.  
"Fuck," he chokes out, just before another round of dry heaves hits him. Someone takes the bucket away and puts a towel in front of him, so he's just spitting onto that instead.  
The puking leaves him cold and sweaty. Gerry brings him the tea when it's done, and Liam stuffs pillows behind him so he doesn't have to use his leg muscles to sit up.  
\-------------------  
James wakes up in the middle of the night feeling like someone has dumped ice water over him. He tries pulling up the covers, but he's just so cold. His leg feels tight and hot on the inside, and when he moves it it hurts worse than it had yesterday. He feels awful, his whole body unhappy and achy. He feels sick. Shit. "Gerry?" he calls quietly. Gerry usually sleeps in the infirmary when he has a patient. "Gerry?"  
The person in the other bed sits up, but when they light a candle, it's Liam' worried face hovering near him, not Gerry's. "What's wrong?"  
"Um... I need..." James swallows. His thoughts feel fuzzy. "My leg. My- I'm- I'm sick, I need Gerry."  
"Ok, just stay there, lay down, James. Stay there and I'll be right back."  
James must fall back asleep then, because it seems like only seconds pass before the rarely-used electric light is on and Gerry is crouching next to him, moving the bedcovers off his leg. "Gerry. Gerry, my leg, it's- there's something wrong," James tries to explain. "I feel so bad. I'm.... cold, but my leg's hot. M'head hurts. Gerry?" James can feel himself shaking.  
"Your leg looks a little bit infected, James. Good catch," says Gerry, exactly like he'd say if James had caught an infection in a patient. "I'm gonna have to cut your stitches and rinse you out again. You know the drill."  
"Yeah," says James. He does know the drill. They... they open the wound. Irrigate, irrigate, irrigate, said Gerry, showing James on Auston's cut hand. When you think you've used enough, use that much again. Pain slices through James's leg and his eyes snap open. He starts to reach down, pull Gerry's hands away from his leg, but Liam catches his wrists.  
"No. You have to let him work, James."  
He knows that, he does, he just forgot for a second. James can't forget medical stuff, he can't. If he forgets, how will he take care of his friends? If he forgets anything, any tiny detail, he could kill one of them. Don't forget.  
Gerry rinses and rinses and rinses. He goes for so long that James's leg is almost numb. He knows this is going to help him, and it's honestly not as bad as he thought it would be. The water is cold, but Liam' hands are warm, so he focuses on that. James turns his head and shoulders so he can get closer to Liam, plants his face on Liam' leg while Gerry works.  
\------------------  
The first blue-black of dawn is showing through the infirmary window. Liam isn't sitting on his bed anymore, so James looks around for him. He's not in the room, but Gerry stands in the corner by the electric light, grinding something in his big stone mortar. "Gerry?" his voice feels raw.  
Gerry turns around, brings the bowl over to James's bed. "Hey, kid. How are you feeling?"  
James takes a second to take stock of his body. "Um. Not great. Leg hurts, but that's normal. Uh, headache. Mild nausea. Back hurts some, just from laying down. Feet are cold. 'M not cold anymore though, so either I have a fever or... I don't, I guess. I'm kinda-" he gestures to his head- "fuzzy. Or something."  
Gerry nods. "You've got a low grade fever, but low enough that I'd call it normal after trauma. So far." He sets the bowl on the table by James's bed and goes into the hall for a minute. When he comes back, Liam is with him, smiling down at James with those wide eyes. "Jake's going to help you sit up, and then you get tea!"  
Gerry's teas are infamously disgusting, and James groans. He feels like there's a joke here, but he's still trying to think of one when Liam pulls him up, Gerry steadying his leg. "Gotta hold on to me, James," Liam says quietly, and James realizes he's just sitting there with his head on Liam’s shoulder, not helping a bit. He wraps his arms around Liam's shoulders and gets lifted and shifted until he's upright, leaning back against a sturdy stack of pillows. His head feels wobbly, but the change in position is great for his back, which hadn't been happy about laying flat for so long.  
\---------------  
James must be pretty out of it. He loses a little time, and when he comes back to himself, Liam is coaching him through every sip of the sweet-bitter tea. He considers saying something about it, but then Liam is bumping the mug against his lower lip, reminding him to take another sip. James looks over at him. "What..." He loses his train of thought before he's gotten the word out.  
"Here," says Liam. "Little more." James opens his mouth and Liam tips in a bit of tea. James swallows. "Good. Good job, bud, almost done."  
Too tired to hold onto a thought for more than a fleeting second, James gives in and drinks the rest of the cup in little sips.  
Willow, that's the gritty bits. Boneset is the strong bitter flavor. Catnip is smooth beneath the bitter, and basil is a bright note he can smell more than taste. There's probably garlic in there too, as well as packed into his leg with honey and maybe yarrow or calendula, if they have any left from last summer's harvest.  
Jake's hand is warm on the back of his head, and James makes an involuntary sound of protest when he takes it away. Liam asks him a question, but James misses it trying to figure out how to tell him he's cold again.  
\----------------------------  
Warmth settles over James, but he's still shivering. He's colder than he's ever been in his life, so cold it hurts. He knows this is normal for a bad infection, but god it's so bad. James hopes he remembers how this feels when he's better so he can know how his patients feel. He's never going to let go of a feverish patient's hand again, that much he knows. Gerry's hand in his is the only spot of heat in a world of ice, and James clings to it with everything he's got, struggling not to lose himself.  
\--------------  
Later, he's warmer. Maybe a little too warm, but he'll take that over the ice cold from before. His leg is kind of tingly- and still aching and throbbing- and he wonders if he can feel his cells repairing themselves. Swelling for active and passive transport. White blood cells capturing and killing the bacteria that were multiplying inside his leg. James finds that he can go soaring through the cave-like structure of his healing bone, swooping and twirling dizzily around stalagmites of calcium, dancing in and out of cavities of trabeculae as lights shine out of the canaliculi.


End file.
